


As the Years Multiply

by PFL (msmoat)



Category: The Professionals
Genre: Anniversary, Established Relationship, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-29
Updated: 2015-03-29
Packaged: 2018-03-20 06:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3640206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/msmoat/pseuds/PFL
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of scenes through the years of Bodie and Doyle's relationship. Anniversary celebrations ensue--possibly not the ones you'd expect</p>
            </blockquote>





	As the Years Multiply

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Escapade Con's 25th anniversary zine. Thank you editors and beta readers!

Damn Doyle, _Damn him_! 

Bodie broke cover and started counting as he ran through the car park. Stupid, this was stupid. He ought never to have joined CI5. He ought to have left after that first week. Month. By now, anyway. Three months in to this bloody partnership and he was going to get killed in the wilds of Sussex because of Doyle’s misplaced chivalry. _Five_! He lurched forward, gratified to hear the sound of gunfire as he pretended to stumble, then fell to the ground with enough momentum to end up partially obscured by a green Cortina. He lay still, heart racing. Would the villains check on him, or would they assume he was dead or injured? Marriott’s proto-terrorist group was inexperienced—whoever had been shooting from the pub’s first floor window had underestimated the trajectory of the bullet, given the slope of the car park. Amateurs! And Doyle had given himself up to them, for what?

_Caring is all that separates us from the villains, isn’t it?_

Yeah, that was Doyle’s bloody credo. As far as Bodie could see, caring was how you ended up a dead hero. Fuck. All this was supposed to be was an easy observation—follow Marriott—but now it was a fiasco. How long had it been since the gunfire? Marriott ought to have cleared out, but he was playing by a Hollywood script, wasn’t he? He’d try to negotiate an escape, or make a stand and take out as many police as possible. Bloody anarchist. So, he and his men were probably rounding up everyone in the pub and putting them together in the front room. They’d be expecting the police since the woman and her child had got away, thanks to Doyle exchanging himself for them. 

Bodie eased further behind the car, then made his way to the hedge that blocked the pub from the road. He ought to get out, get the lads, but it would take time to negotiate with the local coppers, and Doyle was inside that pub. Bodie turned and crossed a field to the back of the whitewashed building. Maybe he and Doyle could salvage the situation before the police arrived and mucked it up. He’d understood Doyle’s intention from the moment he’d given away his position to the twat who’d recognised him. The question was, had Doyle understood Bodie’s move? Would he be ready?

Bodie found a back door to the pub that was locked but not bolted, and easily dealt with. The door opened into a long kitchen that showed all the signs of a hasty departure. An interior opening, like a large window, ahead to his right must connect the kitchen with the bar. Two doors stood at the end of the kitchen. He eased towards the doors, keeping low and moving as quietly as he could. 

“We should get out of here!” The man’s voice carried from the bar area, his tone worried.

“I told you already: it’s too late for that.”

“They aren’t here yet, we could—”

“Shut up. Jason, get back up there and keep an eye out for the coppers. I don’t want to be surprised. _Again_ , fuck it all.”

“Shat we give them a bit of a surprise?” A third voice joined the conversation.

“Yeah.” Bodie tensed and held still as the sound of footsteps approached then passed by the door ahead of him. The same man—Marriott?—continued: “How far do you think we’d get Danny, eh? We’ll have to bargain our way out now.”

“With him?”

Marriott gave a short laugh. “Yes, your copper friend.” 

Bodie nodded. It must have been this ‘Danny’, then, who’d spotted Doyle, panicked and started the whole bloody thing.

“You’d be better off turning yourself in before this gets any worse.” Bodie winced; Doyle airing an opinion, as usual.

He eased open the door to his left and saw it led to a store room and another door to the outside. 

“Yeah, you’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Marriott said. “Make us disappear down some dark hole like all the others who oppose your fascist—”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard it all before,” Doyle said. 

Bodie slowly pulled back the right door, which was on a swing. There was an open dining area ahead of him, stairs to the left, and—fuck—to the right he saw the end of the bar and the front room where the hostages and villains were gathered. It was too exposed to get to the stairs. He could burst in but he had no clear idea of numbers or positions of hostages or villains. One—Jason—had apparently moved upstairs, but—

“We’re fascist police beating you down when all you want to do is blow up people going about their daily lives.”

“Shut up.”

“Isn’t that what you three are planning? Do you think I don’t know explosives when I see them?”

Christ—explosives. But despite the added complication, Bodie felt something like elation flow through him, and it added to the adrenaline rush. Doyle _knew_ he was there. He’d probably positioned himself to watch the kitchen door. Doyle was bloody well feeding him information. 

“Someone’s got to wake the sheep up,” Marriott said. His voice suddenly sharpened: “Stay where you are.”

“Just stretching me legs.” Doyle’s voice sounded a bit further away from Bodie’s position. “What are you afraid of? You’ve got the guns and the man upstairs as backup. You hold all the cards, don’t you? So, is that what he’s told you, Danny? You do realise he counts your mum amongst the sheep?” 

“Shut up!” That was Danny.

“Mind you, he counts you amongst the sheep as well. He’s using you, isn’t he? Do you really think he’d pick you, of all—” Doyle’s words stopped with a sudden grunt and the sound of a blow.

Bodie moved, using the slight cover of the end of the bar to make it to the stairs while Marriott and Danny were occupied with Doyle. _The man upstairs as backup_. He was certain Doyle wanted him to take Jason out first. Bodie sped up the stairs to the first room. Jason sat with his back to the doorway, his attention split between the window and the box and wires on a table in front of him. Surprise explosives, eh? Bodie slipped up behind Jason, covered his mouth with one hand and put pressure on his carotids with the other. When Jason went limp, Bodie quietly lowered him to the floor. He glanced at the explosive device. It wasn’t set, but if it had been— Fuck, it would have taken out the entire floor and more. He turned back to the stairs. Two more to go. What condition was Doyle in? In the distance, he heard sirens approaching.

“Jason! What do you see?” Marriott called from below.

Bodie went down the stairs fast, gun drawn.

“Ja—”

“Drop the gun,” Bodie ordered. He heard a crash in the front room, and a woman’s scream, but kept his eyes on Marriott. Marriott bent as if to set the gun on the floor, then swiftly straightened, took a step to the side, and brought his gun up. Bodie shot him in the shoulder, hurried over to kick Marriott’s gun away, and trained his own on him. “Doyle!”

“It’s over, Danny,” Doyle said. A moment later he spoke again: “Clear, Bodie! All right, sunshine, hands on this rail. Sir, if you’ll just put these on him, please?” A few moments later, Doyle appeared around the corner of the bar. “Fancy meeting you here. I thought you’d done a runner.”

Bodie smiled. “Yeah, ran the wrong way, didn’t I?” He shifted his position enough to see two women and a man in the front room, along with Danny.

“Directionally challenged, that’s you.” Doyle was bleeding from a cut on his mouth, and he moved carefully as he knelt to check on Marriott.

“You all right?”

“Better than he is.” Doyle caught the cuffs Bodie tossed to him, secured Marriott’s ankles, then stood again. “Keep the pressure on, Marriott, we wouldn’t want you to bleed to death before Cowley sees you.”

“Cow— You’re bloody CI5?” Marriott winced as he jarred his shoulder.

“That’s right.” Doyle looked at Bodie. “Upstairs man?”

“Dead.” Bodie holstered his gun.

From outside they heard a voice speaking through a megaphone. “You in the pub! Come out with your hands up!”

Doyle sighed. “Hell.” He looked at Bodie. “You or me?”

“You know the answer to that. Copper.”

Doyle grimaced and turned towards the door.

“Ray. Gun.” Bodie held out his hand.

“Right.” Doyle handed his gun to Bodie, then turned to the people in the room. “Give us a minute to calm the police down and it’ll soon be over.” He pulled out his ID, opened the door and stood with his hands raised. “CI5! Everything’s under control!”

The coppers were incredulous at first but eventually cooperative. Bodie let Doyle handle negotiations while he kept an eye on their prisoners. The police took statements from the hostages, and a local ambulance crew patched up Marriott well enough to wait for a secured ambulance to take him to London. The landlord brought two pints of beer to Bodie while Doyle was on the phone with Cowley. Bodie leaned back on the bench seat and contemplated the vagaries of fate. Crew member, bouncer, gun-runner, mercenary, soldier, and now…an agent, with a partner.

Doyle returned from his phone call and took a seat next to Bodie. “We got a ‘well done’ from Cowley.”

“You’re joking.”

“No, straight up. Mind you, it was after he harangued me for allowing Danny to recognise us in the first place. And for causing a rumpus.”

Bodie nodded. “‘A rumpus’. Anyway, it was _you_ Danny recognised.”

“Which wouldn’t have happened if our intel had been better!”

Bodie eyed him. “Did you mention that to Cowley?”

Doyle looked at the ceiling. “Might have done.”

Bodie sighed. “Then get this down you.” He slid one of the pints towards Doyle.

“Oh, ta, mate.”

“It wasn’t from me. The landlord gave ‘em to us.”

Doyle looked at him.

Bodie sighed. “Yes, I paid him. Drink up with a clear conscience, copper.” He didn’t mention that the landlord had refused the payment. On a whim, he raised his glass. “Here, wait. Let’s make a toast.” 

“To Cowley’s ‘well done’?”

“No, we deserved that. To…my anniversary.” 

“Anniversary?”

“Fifteen years ago I left home seeking fortune and adventure.” 

“If you’ve got a fortune, you can buy the next round.” 

“I kept seeking the adventure, didn’t I?”

“Oh, is that your excuse for moving from, what was it, mercenary to paras to the SAS to CI5?”

“Got bored, you see.” Bodie set his glass down.

Doyle rolled his eyes. “Well, you’re unique, I will grant you that.”

“They broke the mould with me.”

“To safeguard the world, yes. Understandable.”

Bodie grinned. “And that’s what we’re drinking to.” He raised his glass again.

“Safeguarding the world?” Doyle raised his glass as well.

“To the next chapter.” Bodie clicked his glass with Doyle’s. “I think I can safely say it’s not going to be boring. At the very least, you clearly need a keeper.”

“Pot kettle, mate. Anyway, you should be careful what you wish for.” Doyle drank some of the beer, then eyed Bodie. “Fifteen years, eh?” An odd look crossed his face, as if he was seeing something in the distance, but then he smiled at Bodie. “Planning on sticking with the partnership now then, are you?”

Bodie laughed a little, and felt again that strange sense of elation. Of course Doyle had known. “Possibly. You?”

“Yeah. Why not?  


*

OooOOOooo

*

Bodie saw the figure sitting on the steps to his building and knew immediately who it had to be. Fuck. He had had tentative plans to meet up with Doyle after the assessment, but he’d forgotten in the aftermath of his own unexpected meeting with Cowley. Fuck, fuck, fuck. “Sorry mate,” he said, as he approached the steps. “Been here long?”

“Long enough.” Doyle’s tone revealed nothing of his state of mind.

“You look frozen. Come on up.” He led the way to his flat, silently cursing the last drink he’d had. He’d have to tread carefully with Doyle. He didn’t want to explain where he’d been, or why. He barely understood it himself. “Drink?” Bodie took off his jacket.

“Yeah. Thanks.” Doyle walked into the living room, and draped his own jacket on a chair. He accepted the generous portion of whisky Bodie had poured for him. “Not joining me, then?” 

“Stopped at a pub earlier.” 

“Started the celebration without me, eh?” Doyle sipped the whisky. “Not that you’ve asked me how the assessment went.”

Bodie shrugged but his stomach tightened with tension. “Of course you passed. I never doubted it.” He hadn’t. It was nearly three months to the day since Mayli Kuolo had shot Ray, but she hadn’t beaten him. No one could. Except for Ray himself.

“Yeah, of course I passed. Back on the squad, back on duty.” Doyle set the glass down, then faced Bodie. “But apparently without my partner.”

 _Damn_. “It’s not quite like—”

“Then you tell me what it’s like, Bodie. Because Cowley was pretty damn clear about it.”

“You saw Cowley?”

“Are you leaving?”

“No.” He knew he’d taken too long to say the word. Dammit, he wasn’t prepared to be confronted by Doyle about this yet. He hadn’t had time to think through Ross’s report. Why the hell had Cowley told—? But, he knew why. They were Cowley’s best team, and Cowley would use whatever leverage he had to keep them. For a moment, black humour rose within him. He might have given more away to Ross than he’d thought, but he was certain neither she nor Cowley—nor, indeed, Doyle himself—understood just how much leverage Doyle could apply. If he knew…. 

Bleak despair chased the humour away.

“Had enough, then?” Doyle’s voice seemed as remote as his expression.

“Is it a wonder if I have had?” Bodie turned away. “All the sophisticated weaponry out there, what chance have we got?”

“You’re scared?”

Bodie sent a look Doyle’s way, but didn’t answer him. He moved towards the window, his thoughts jumbled.

“So, we just give up? Let the innocents who are even less prepared than we are just cope with it on their own. Right, why not?”

Bodie closed his eyes. Yeah, of course Doyle would think of them. Always bloody them—the sheep, the ones they were protecting. The ones Doyle felt so guilty about he’d lay down his life— Angered flared within him on the thought, and he welcomed it. “Yeah, why not? Get out.” Bodie turned round. “I’m not going to be a fucking martyr with you, Doyle.”

“What the hell does that mean? What’s the matter with you? Cowley’s telling me Kate Ross has strongly recommended—”

“That he split the team.” Bodie kept his voice level as he overrode Doyle’s.

Doyle stilled, eyes wide. “You agree with her.”

Bodie tried to hold Doyle’s gaze, but he couldn’t. He felt trapped, caught between too many conflicting emotions.

“For fuck’s sake.” Doyle turned around, hand in his hair, then turned back. “‘Martyr,’ you said. Is that what she said? That I have a martyr complex or some rot like that? Bloody hell, Bodie, she said _you_ had a death wish, but we both know—”

“I _didn’t_ have a death wish! Yeah, I was willing to lay down my life to get justice for Keith but I didn’t seek death out. I didn’t embrace it like you in that bloody ambulance, I didn’t lie down and—”

“I didn’t either, you stupid—” Doyle cut off his words, stalked to Bodie until he was close. “I fought. You know what happened. ‘Strewth! I told you who shot me—you said so yourself!”

“Yeah!” Bodie shoved Doyle so he could move away from him, then turned towards him again. “You signalled me. But it was to save _her_ , not you.”

Doyle stared at him.

“I kept telling everyone—Cowley, the doctor, everyone—that you’d live. You had a strong will. You’d survive. Christ, I even told her—Mayli. I held her in my arms—could’ve killed her y’know. I thought about it. But you wouldn’t have wanted that. And, anyway, she was already dying. I told her you were all right, you’d make it. I told—” He couldn’t force any more words out. He turned away.

“Bodie…”

“You didn’t fight for yourself, Ray. You fought for her—the innocent caught up in bloody games. You wanted me to get to her before anyone else, didn’t you? Only, she wasn’t as innocent as you thought, was she?” He turned his head to look at Doyle. “No one forced her to pick up a gun and shoot you—she _chose_ that path. No one forced Latowa or that bomber to get into the van. No one forced Mickey Hamilton to kill, or Paul Coogan to hit you, or—”

“Okay. I get it.”

“Do you?” Bodie walked back towards him. “You’re a ticking, self-destructive time bomb!” He stopped right in front of Doyle, the words flowing from him, finally released. Ross had been right and yet so wrong. No one knew the full truth. “Yeah, the sins of the world all rest on your shoulders and you’ll bloody crucify yourself and smile while you do it. Well, I don’t want to be collateral damage, mate.”

“You won’t be. Dammit, Bodie, do you think I’d—” Doyle broke off, his eyes searching Bodie’s face. “You don’t trust me.” He nearly whispered the words.

“To save my life? Yeah, I do. To save your own?” Bodie let the answer hang in the air. His chest hurt.

“You’ve made up your mind.”

Bodie turned away. He hadn’t. He didn’t know what he would do—leaving seemed just as impossible as staying.

“It wasn’t for her.” Doyle grabbed Bodie’s arm; Bodie shook him off. “Do you hear me?”

“Don’t bother—”

“It was _you_. You in my head, telling me—” Doyle breathed in and out quickly. “Oh, what the fuck, you’ll never— It’s too late. Too— Fuck this.” All of a sudden, he moved in, grabbed Bodie by the neck and kissed him.

Shocked, Bodie stood still, didn’t react, until realisation finally hit him: this was Doyle— _Doyle_ —kissing him, and he wrapped his arms around him, held him as he’d wanted to for years. He kissed back, sought entrance into Doyle’s mouth with his tongue. Doyle opened for him, surrendered control—and that brought Bodie back to himself. Because when he had thought of this, in safe darkness, he’d always known Doyle would resist. There had been no hope. He wrenched his mouth away from Doyle’s, pushed him away. They stared at one another. “What the hell is this, Doyle?”

Doyle licked his bottom lip, but he met Bodie’s gaze. “I want you. I—” 

Bodie propelled Doyle back against the wall, hands gripping Doyle’s shoulders. “Don’t fuck with me. You knew, didn’t you? That I’ve wanted you.” 

Doyle was tense under Bodie’s hands, but he didn’t fight back. “Not for certain.” He took in a breath. “I didn’t think I— It wasn’t worth the risk. But in hospital I realised…” He lifted his head a little. “You’re what matters.”

Bodie shook his head. “No. You can’t. You can’t just change—”

“Death has a way of rearranging priorities.” 

“It’s been three months.”

“Rearranged priorities aren’t necessarily easier to act on.” Doyle straightened, pushed back a little against Bodie, who eased his grip, but didn’t let him go. “I’m not fucking with you— Well, actually, I’d like to, but… What I mean is, this is real. I want you. Need you, I reckon. Long term, if we can make it work.”

Bodie stared at him, read the sincerity in his eyes and face. He had known Doyle in every mood, had been through firefights, and pain and death with him. He had trusted him with his life, and would again—collateral damage be damned. Trust was the very thing Dr Ross thought he’d lost. But Ross was a fool. “Is this bribery, Doyle, to get me to stay?”

Doyle read him perfectly, as always. Bodie felt the muscles under his fingers relax. “Well, Cowley did say to use any means necessary to keep our team viable.”

“Well, then.” Bodie leaned in towards Doyle. “Let’s test our viability.” He kissed Doyle, felt the immediate response in him, and shut the door on the voice in his head warning him to be wary. By the time he manoeuvred Doyle towards the bedroom, his polo-neck was off, his trousers were undone, and he’d heeled off his shoes. Doyle still had his shirt on, but his jeans and pants had been left in the hallway. Bodie pulled Doyle’s shirt off and dropped it to the floor as they neared the bed. The light from the hallway allowed him to see the still-livid scars on Doyle’s chest. He traced them gently, feeling Doyle’s breaths. “What did they say at the assessment?”

Doyle laughed a little. “Now he asks.” He kissed Bodie, then tugged him towards the bed. “They want to monitor me when it gets strenuous, but they aren’t expecting any problems. I’m to tell them if I encounter any, of course.” Doyle settled onto the bed, on display. “Here, want to test my stress reaction?”

“And then some, yeah.” Bodie pushed off his trousers and followed Doyle onto the bed. He still couldn’t quite believe this was happening. He’d spent the evening at his local chasing fears in his head, debating the wisdom of leaving England. He put a hand on Doyle’s face. “Are you sure, Ray?”

“Idiot.” Doyle surged up, changed their positions, so Bodie found himself on his back with Doyle kissing him and stroking Bodie’s cock at the same time. Bodie moaned. Doyle broke the kiss. “Sudden changes can happen, mate. I know. Trust me.” Doyle didn’t say it as a question, but Bodie heard it that way, anyway. He pulled Doyle close to him, and let touch give Doyle his answer.

It wasn’t fireworks or ambitious when they came together. Bodie reckoned maybe they both needed the comfort of simple closeness. He kissed Doyle’s scars, and traced veins and arteries with his tongue. He felt the surge of life as Doyle came in his mouth, and cried out his name. And in turn he gave himself up to Doyle’s care and control and was brought safely home to his arms.

“Why didn’t you knock some sense into me years ago?” Doyle murmured, his arms tight around Bodie.

Bodie forced one eyelid open to glare at Doyle, then closed it again. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future, shall I?” He thought for a moment. “Mind you, all the posing and flirting makes a bit more sense now.”

“Are you talking about me or you? I don’t reckon I’ll forget those skin tight beige trousers.”

“Yeah, learned my lesson there. I kept to black after that.” Bodie nuzzled Doyle’s chest. “You talked about risk. If Cowley finds out—if anyone finds out…”

“I know.” Doyle sat up, dislodging Bodie, but dropping a kiss on his mouth as well. “But it’s worth it. Reordered priorities, remember?”

“I’m not likely to forget. Oi, where are you going?” he asked as Doyle climbed out of the bed.

“Loo.” Doyle sent Bodie a look over his shoulder. “Don’t go to sleep on me.”

“Then you’d better ‘urry up hadn’t you?” He made himself comfortable in the bed, but Ray had put a notion in his brain that went straight to his kidneys. Cursing, he climbed out of the bed and reached the loo just as Doyle exited it. Doyle grinned at him, so Bodie mock-punched him on the shoulder. When Bodie got back from the loo, he found the room lit by the soft glow of the beside lamp, and Doyle in bed with a half-filled glass in his hand. “Oh, make yourself at home, why don’t you? What is that—did you get into my champagne?”

“Of course.” Doyle handed Bodie a glass as soon as he settled next to Doyle in the bed, his back against the headboard. “Only the best for you, sunshine.”

“Yeah, that’s why I bought it.” He took a sip of the sparkling liquid. “You know, I could have done with some food. I never did have dinner.”

“And whose fault was that? I was waiting for you, all on my own. Finally had to track you down here. Only, you weren’t here, you bastard.”

Bodie looked at Doyle narrowly. “You had dinner, didn’t you, you little toe-rag.”

Doyle grinned. “Of course I did. I waited an hour, had some food, then went searching for you.”

“I thought I was the pragmatist in this pairing.”

“You were too busy trying to leave me.”

“Didn’t get far, did I?” He dropped a kiss on Doyle’s shoulder, hiding his face for a moment as residual tension tightened his gut.

“Trying to avoid being collateral damage.” Doyle’s voice was gentle.

“Trying to avoid being a witness—” And, dammit, his voice cracked on the word. “The pattern’s pretty clear, Ray.”

“It’s broken.” Doyle said it flatly.

Bodie didn’t say anything. He had lived with the pattern for years. Would it hurt more or less now they were lovers? He supposed it didn’t matter. He’d made his choice.

Doyle sighed, fiddling with his glass of champagne. “You remember I told you about cutting up that kid when I was just a kid myself?”

Bodie frowned. “Yeah. You didn’t get caught, you said. It sounded like you needed to do it to survive.”

Doyle let out a short laugh but there was no amusement on his face. “I told myself that. Well, and it was rough, but—” He shook his head as he gazed at the wall.

“You felt guilty.”

“How’d you guess?”

It went back that far? Bodie contemplated the champagne in his glass.

“I didn’t feel it at first. Or, at least, I didn’t recognise it, if I did. But I started getting into a lot more trouble—hurt more people. Never got caught. Until finally I tangled with the wrong crowd. I woke up in hospital with a broken cheekbone.” Doyle shook his head. “I don’t remember much about what happened, but I do remember that at the time all I could see was that kid I’d knifed, lying in his own blood.”

“You’d killed him?”

“No I knifed him but he got help quickly enough. He didn’t bleed out—not like I was seeing it in hospital. I _knew_ that, but the images haunted me. Probably because it could have easily ended that way.”

“Guilt.”

Doyle shrugged. “Responsibility. They’re intertwined, aren’t they?”

“Not really.” 

“Well, they are for me. In hospital, it was like waking up from sleep, you know? I…changed.”

“Your priorities changed.” Bodie looked at Doyle. “Was that when you decided to—what did you call it? ‘Get some discipline.’ You joined the police?”

“Not right away, but yeah it all stemmed from that.” Doyle drew in a breath. “Call it guilt, responsibility—the point is, I knew I had to care about my actions—others—or…what’s the point? It’s when I stop caring that bad things happen.”

“Superstition, Ray.”

“No. Cause for carelessness.”

Bodie thought back over the years. “So, when you wouldn’t help yourself after Coogan…and that bike accident after Mickey Hamilton died?”

Doyle nodded. “That time I got knifed in the drugs squad.”

“And…Mayli.” Bodie kept his voice neutral, hiding his disquiet. 

“Forgetting to set the locks, not taking action as soon as I saw her. Those two boys had died in the van, and I hadn’t…cared enough.” Doyle shook his head.

“For Christ’s sake, Ray. They chose—”

“Their own actions. I know.” Doyle turned to more fully face Bodie. “I _know_. And I believe it. _Really_ believe it. Now. And Mayli, too. That’s what changed this time, when I woke in hospital. I still care—I _have_ to care—but…it’s a balance, isn’t it? I think I’ve finally learned that.”

“You’re saying you’re not responsible for the invention of gunpowder.”

“You what?”

Bodie smiled a little. “Believe me, you would have got round to thinking it.”

“Yeah, well, not any more. It’s a job, and I’m good at it. But…it’s not going to take everything.” Doyle raised his glass. “Worth celebrating, eh?”

Bodie was dubious that Doyle had cured his propensity for guilt so easily, but maybe this balance notion of his was enough to keep self-destruction under control. And he would be there to ensure Doyle kept it under control. Doyle had given him that power of his own free will, it seemed. “Yes, worth celebrating with my last bottle of champagne.”

Doyle tilted his head. “Anyway, it’s our anniversary, remember.”

“Our…?” Bodie looked at Doyle, disconcerted. Doyle _couldn’t_ be that fatuous… He noticed the wicked glint in Doyle’s eye. “You bastard. What are you on about, then?”

“Wasn’t it about twenty years ago now that you set off to find your fortune and adventure? Look how well that turned out!”

“Twenty—?” Bodie did a quick calculation in his head. “Yeah, okay, but—”

“Well, it was also twenty years ago that I got this.” Doyle brushed his fingers along the implant in his cheek.

“Really? You mean, while I went off adventuring, you were getting beaten up?”

“Yeah, hardly seems fair, does it?”

“Don’t worry, petal, I’ll protect you now.” Bodie saluted Doyle with his glass and drank some of the champagne.

Doyle eyed him, but drank some of his own champagne before he spoke again. “I shall keep that in mind next week.”

“Next week?”

“Well, since you’ve decided you’re staying—and you _are_ —we’re off to team assessment next week. At least, that’s what Cowley said.”

“Bugger. Well, that won’t be so bad. Jack’s a—” He broke off as Doyle shook his head.

“Not Jack.”

“Not?” Bodie’s heart sank.

Doyle nodded. “Macklin. It’s all your fault for scaring Cowley.”

Bodie looked at him, appalled. The worst of it was, he couldn’t argue with him.

“You’re going to have to make it up to me.” Doyle set his champagne glass down on the bedside table.

“How am I going to do that?” Bodie watched with interest as Doyle took his glass and placed it beside the other one.

“Oh, I have every faith in your inventiveness.” Doyle’s mouth stopped any verbal reply Bodie might have made.

*

oooOOOooo

*

Bodie juggled bags and the unfamiliar keys as he stood outside the door to the flat. Just as he got the right key into the lock, Doyle opened the door. “Oh, perfect timing,” Bodie said, with some sarcasm.

“Couldn’t imagine who was making all that racket.” Doyle took one of the bags and turned back into the flat. 

Bodie followed him into the living room, carrying the rest. “You’ve been busy, then.” He looked round the sparsely furnished living room. Doyle had moved the sofa away from the window, giving anyone who sat on it a view to the outside. A somewhat battered coffee table was in front of it with two plates and cutlery already laid out. Doyle had set up the TV and stereo—the one on Bodie’s old trunk and the other on bookshelves. Doyle’s grandfather’s upholstered chair had been placed at a right angle to the sofa and would do if they had any guests. Well, one guest. 

“Yeah, put it all on the table there and I’ll bring beers.” Doyle’s voice carried over his shoulder as he walked towards the kitchen.

“How is the kitchen?”

“Don’t ask, unless you want to be put to work.”

“I have no curiosity.” Bodie set about opening bags and cartons, laying the food out on the coffee table. 

Doyle came back into the room, carrying two beer bottles. “The bed’s put together, though, you’ll be glad to hear.”

“I am. Wish I could say I planned to do more than sleep, though.”

“Food will revive you. It had better. What did you get?”

“Chicken tikka masala, lamb bhuna, tarka dal, seafood curry, onion bhajis, poppadoms, pilau rice, sag aloo—for you—and naan for me. Will that do?”

“Whose army are you expecting, then?” Doyle settled onto the sofa and picked up one of the plates.

“I haven’t worked so hard since I was in the army. Moving is more work than I remembered!” Bodie also sat on the sofa, then unwrapped the naan and transferred one of the pieces to his plate.

“Always had Accommodations take care of it before. That naan looks good. You don’t mind if I have it, right?” Doyle snatched the remaining piece of naan.

Bodie reached into one of the bags and pulled out another serving of naan. Doyle grinned at him. Bodie piled his plate high with food, leaned back and looked around at the living room. “Nice.”

“It’ll do for a start.” Doyle took a bite of food. “At least we know there’s a good Indian nearby.”

“And we already know our local is decent.” They weren’t as centrally located as when they had been with CI5, but the first floor flat was big enough for both of them, secure, and within their budget.

Doyle nodded and reached for his beer bottle.

“Here, wait.” Bodie picked up his own bottle. “First toast. Um… Well, it took twenty-five years after that knife fight, but you were finally caught in a wrong-doing.” Bodie reflected for a moment. “Actually, it was more of a right-doing, if you ask me.”

“I’m not,” Doyle said. “Asking you. But I’ll drink to that. Here’s to…getting my priorities straight once and for all.” He clicked his bottle with Bodie’s.

“And a less fraught future.” Bodie drank from the bottle.

“Can’t guarantee that, but the odds are in our favour. No more hiding, at least.”

Bodie set his bottle down. “And Cowley did all right by us—let us retire rather than kicking us out.” He said it lightly, but he meant it. It was about time Doyle got over his resentment.

“Hmm. Well, it was the decent thing for him to do, considering it was all his fault.”

Bodie raised his eyebrows. “How’s that?” He pushed seafood curry onto a bit of naan.

Doyle gestured with his fork. “He told me to find a way to keep you in CI5.”

“Yeah, mate, five years ago.”

“Well, there you go. He should be thanking me rather than tossing me out on me ear.”

Bodie eyed him. “Tossing us out with pensions and contacts for setting up our own private security business.”

Doyle waved a hand in the air. “Yeah, all right, you’ve made your point. Hey, you reckon we can call him ‘George’ now?”

“I’ll let you try it first.”

“Coward.” Doyle ate more food, then set down his knife and fork. “Here, then, what about you?”

Bodie frowned. “What about me what?”

“Twenty-five years, and…are you done with adventuring? Finally?”

“Living with you? That’s adventure enough for anyone.” After a moment, he sighed. “I don’t reckon I will ever see that fortune, though.”

“Oh, I dunno. Depends on how you define ‘fortune’.” Doyle smiled at him.

Bodie looked away for a moment, too used to hiding his feelings, but then he looked back at Doyle. “Let’s do this properly.” He set his plate down on the table and picked up the beer bottle again. “Here’s to five years ago, when you came to your senses.”

Doyle rolled his eyes, but the affection he felt was clear on his face. “Here’s to ten years ago, when you came to _your_ senses and decided to stay.”

“How about this, then. After twenty-five years, we’re both free, healthy, and finally home.” Bodie clicked his beer bottle with Doyle’s.

The End  
February 2015


End file.
